


Fourplay (Pun Intended)

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Board Games, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious Scott, Prompt Fic, Table Sex, Tumblr: sterekwriters, snark as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd been playing Connect Four for almost twenty games now, and Stiles was determined to win. Derek was determined not to let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fourplay (Pun Intended)

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Sterek Writers Network](http://sterekwriters.tumblr.com) Spin the Bottle event.  
> This fic is a result of a prompt from [mad-madam-m](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com):
> 
> “we were having a fun games night w our friends but now everyone’s left your flat apart from me bc we’ve played twenty games of connect 4 and still haven’t managed to find a winner and gdi i will beat you”

Stiles watched Derek’s black disc slide down the game board where it landed, fourth in a row of other black ones. He tried to ignore the cocky way Derek quirked an eyebrow at him, his way of saying, ‘I win.’… again, for the seventeenth time in a row. Instead, he rapped his head repeatedly against Derek’s kitchen table.

“Look, if you’re not happy playing this, we can play something else. Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve kept going this long. Connect Four isn’t the most…exciting game in the world.”

“Oh shut up,” Stiles said, as he emptied the grid, separating the pieces into piles of black and red. “I am going to beat you at this at least once. It can’t be that hard.”

 

 

 

Derek shrugged and took a sip from his glass of his lemonade, watching Stiles make the first move. He was persistent; Derek had to give him that. They took turns, trading moves back and forth until he could practically smell the frustration rolling off Stiles like the tide coming into shore. With a smirk, he countered Stiles’ move and once more declared himself victorious.

“How the hell are you doing that? Last time I checked, you were  _not_  a brilliant strategist!”

“And you’re no Sun Tzu either. I can’t help it you suck at this game.” His brows dipped into a deep scowl when the chip Stiles flicked at him bounced off his forehead. “Keep it up, Tim.”

Stiles craned his head to the side, lip curled. To Derek, he looked a bit like Elvis. Derek had known him long enough to recognize affronted confusion when he saw it.

“Wha- Tim? Who the hell is Tim? Wait a minute…did you mean Timmy? I have not fallen down the well. Thank you very much, Lassie!”

“Lassie was a girl, and I’m not a dog.”

“That remains to be seen.” When Derek tried to pick up the pieces and stow the game, Stiles batted away his hand. “Oh no you don’t! We are playing until I win one!”

Derek shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

Stiles growled, legitimately growled at  him.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Tim.” He dropped his first piece into the game.

“Who.is.Tim?” If there was a way to melodramatically send a chip down the slot, Stiles was a master at it.

“The annoying kid in  _Jurassic Park_. That’s Tim.”

“Wha- That hurts, Derek.” Stiles repaid the insult by flicking more chips at his head.

Derek tried not to smirk when he watched Stiles continue to chase his chips, playing defense, all while, for the nineteenth time, ignoring the chips Derek had already played, ones that had three in row, in three separate places. “Not my fault you’re a delicate flower.”

“Take that back.”

“No.”

Across the loft, he heard Cora groan. “Ugh, they’re at it again. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they hated each other.”

“You mean they don’t?” Scott asked.

“You kidding,” Lydia laughed “ _this_  is practically foreplay,” she said, her words much quieter now. “They just need to have angry wall sex and get it out of their system.”

The sound of Erica’s bursting gum bubble echoed through the space. “I’d pay good money to watch that. Hell, I’d even bring popcorn.”

Even without looking, Derek knew Scott was covering his ears (as if that would drown out the ladies’ banter) “Ew…no. I do not want that to happen while I’m here. I think you three are seeing things”

“Oh please. It’s plain as fucking day. Pretty sure angry snark is my brother’s default flirtation setting.

Derek felt his ears flush in embarrassment. Was he really that obvious? Without paying attention, he dropped a chip in a random slot, eliciting a cackle from Stiles.

“Way to go, Lassie. Your brain fall down a well on that one?” Gleeful, Stiles sent one of his pieces down to cut off one of Derek’s possible routes.

Someone remind him: Why was he nursing a major crush on Stiles again?

In retaliation, Derek picked up a chip and waved it in his face. “Do you see this? This is the chip of broken dreams.”

“What?”

With a flourish, Derek let it fall into place, once more connecting four in a row.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! How are you doing this?”

“Magic.”

“Bullshit.”

Derek deadpanned. “I’m a wizard, Harry.”

Stiles’ features drew together in a scowl. When he moved to set up game number twenty, Derek pushed the game off the kitchen table. Pieces scattered everywhere, like shards of broken glass from a fallen window pane. It was the most gratifying sound he’d heard all night.

“Rude! You really like pushing my buttons, Asshole! You get off on riling me up, don’t you?”

He leaned forward, invading Stiles’ personal space. “Yes.”

Stiles’ jaw hung open for a moment, before Derek could see his brain come back online. “Oh yeah? Well, me fucking too!”

Derek stood up, and hands on the armrests of Stiles’ chair, loomed over him. “Well then, do something about it.”

“Fine,” He shoved at Derek’s chest, pushing him backwards, until Stiles, too, was standing, “I will!”

“Good!”

 

 

 

“Great!” Stiles grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and yanked Derek towards him until their lips crashed together. To his surprise, Derek was fully on board with this plan. He nipped at his mouth, pressing hot bruising kisses to Stiles’ lips, seemingly in a move to shut him up. Stiles, in turn, was not about to be outdone and moved his hands from Derek’s shirt to his hair, giving the strands a tentative pull to test the waters. When Derek did not utter a word in protest, Stiles gave a good, hard yank, tugging his head to the side and mirrored the force of Derek’s kisses on his neck.

Where he’d expected his actions would earn him a warning growl from the werewolf, he only received a groan of pleasure. Still in shock that he was not only kissing Derek but the man was actually enjoying, Stiles grew bolder more confident, especially when one of Derek’s hands that had been framing his face, moved to the small of his back. Derek drew him flush against his body, giving a little roll of his hips that made Stiles weak in the knees, coaxing what would, in any other situation, be an embarrassing moan from his throat, one of which Derek seemed to read as an invitation to both continue and press on.

Stiles was more than okay with that. He was so much more okay with that, any more okay and he’d be Oklahoma (get it? OK? What? He was hilarious).

Derek turned him, backing Stiles up against the table and hefted him up to sit on it. Stiles, dangerously hard in his pants and more than ready for anything at this point, opened his legs so Derek could slot between them.

“To think,” Derek mumbled against his lips, “it only took nineteen games of Connect Four to piss you off enough to make a move.” His soft chuckle, reverberated through Stiles’ skull. “If I would have known that, I would have suggested we play years ago.”

“Yeah yeah. Laugh it up, Fuzzball. Nothing was stopping you from making a move all on your own.” Somehow, despite being more turned-on than he’d ever been in his life, his voice still sounded angry, and the fact that his antagonizing tone seemed to spur Derek on, only made things worse, in a good way, the best wa- Derek rolled his hips again, grinding their erections together, and all thought, rational or otherwise, fled his mind like all the rats from Hamelin.

Derek’s hum of assent was followed by uncoordinated motions, attempts to unbutton Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles, were his mind fully in the moment, would have made a cutting remark about Derek’s lack of innate werewolf grace. As it were, his mind was far from with it.

 

 

 

Cursing under his breath, Derek fumbled once more with Stiles’ shirt before giving up and pulling, snapping the threads holding the buttons to the material. They fell to the floor with a patter, one at a time. And damn it, he should have known there would be another shirt to deal with, but he could manage a t-shirt. However, he didn’t get a chance to reach for the hem, because Stiles was too busy tugging at Derek’s shirt, yanking it up over his head, throwing it to some far off and exotic location in his loft, and by exotic, he meant that it landed in the kitchen sink.

Stiles’ hands were febrile against Derek’s bare skin, and he knew that, if his hands were that warm, then his chest had to be just as hot. He wanted, nay needed that heat against his body. With one fluid movement, he had Stiles’ undershirt off and flung behind him, bound for destinations elsewhere in the room.

Behind him, he heard Scott splutter, and Derek could only guess he’d managed to hit the guy in the face with the piece of clothing (two points). “Oh my God!” Were Derek a more considerate person, he might have felt a bit of contrition upon hearing Scott’s horrified expression.

Good thing he was an asshole. Yet, Stiles was just as culpable in this scenario as he was, and that made him an asshole too. Great, they could be in this together, assholes in love. Yeah, Derek liked the sound of that.

“Ow,” Stiles hissed in pain when Derek pushed him flat onto the table where he joined him.

“Sorry,” he pressed hot-open mouthed kisses on Stiles’ collarbone in apology.

Underneath him, Stiles writhed. “Holy God,” he groaned, “ so long as you keep doing that, apology fucking accepted.”

The last thing he heard as he went for the buckle of Stiles’ belt, was the crunch of popcorn and Erica’s words of protest as the rest of the pack dragged her out of the loft.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com)


End file.
